


Make It Home

by pherryt



Series: Winterhawk Bingo [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Breakup, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Likes to Cook, Clintasha - platonic - Freeform, Confessions, Cuddling, Dancing, Deaf Clint Barton, Established Tony/Pepper, F/M, Fake Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Knitting, Nightmares, No cheating, Not A Real Breakup, Soft Boys, Sort Of, Teambonding, Tony/Steve - Freeform, bed sharing, hints of angst, hints or mention of other relationships, hurt!Clint, post winter soldier, sam/nat - Freeform, sharing a snipers nest, tower fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: Nobody's seen Clint since SHIELD fell, until now.
Relationships: Clintasha, Winterhawk
Series: Winterhawk Bingo [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1450903
Comments: 93
Kudos: 305
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Clint Barton Bingo, Winterhawk Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fake Relationship square on my Winterhawk Bingo card - only one square left!!!
> 
> also,... why is it easier to help other people with titles than it is to come up with my own? WHY? lol

By the time Clint had managed to drag himself back to the Tower, more than a little worse for wear, months had passed since the Triskelion fell. The Winter Soldier had been apprehended and was, already, a fixture on Steve’s floor.

Apparently.

He was a little out of it when he finally got back to the tower, battling fatigue and, as he was becoming increasingly aware, some sort of fever.

He’d been running and hiding and fighting for _months._ He’d made a lot of enemies while on SHIELD’s payroll and (maybe more than) a few even before then. Without their protection, their support, everything had become just that much harder when the bad guys had come after him. With no bolt holes left to retreat to, his SHIELD credit cards inoperative, Clint had needed to fall back on the ingenuity that had brought him to SHIELD’s attention in the first place.

Didn’t mean it was easy, but he hadn’t been recruited for nothing.

Clint had gotten hurt more than once over the past few months, but he was also good at patching himself up. That was a skill he’d learned _early_. But injury after injury with no rest between was taking its toll. He had a feeling one of his ‘cuts’ had gotten infected and that was causing his fever now.

Or maybe the flu had caught up to him. Yeah, maybe that was it.

He swayed on his feet as he trudged up the sidewalk towards Avengers Tower. It was a beacon of safe haven. If nothing else, he knew the Avengers, knew they were safe. But were they okay? Was Nat? Fuck, Nat had been SHIELD too, and that was all on Clint. He _had_ to get to the tower, make sure everyone was okay.

Dizziness washed over him and he stopped to lean on a wall. It was late, but it was still New York, so people saw him, only giving him the stink eye and a wide berth. He grunted. Fair enough. He was covered in grime and dirt and dried blood and very obviously carrying a weapon. He was just surprised no cop had stopped him yet.

Maybe they’d recognized he was an Avenger and just assumed it was business they’d be better to stay clear of?

Shoving off the wall, Clint pushed on. one foot in front of the other, then the next, then another. Until finally he was staring into his reflection in the shining glass of the Tower. Okay, yeah, he looked like fucking crap, like something the Hulk had dragged in.

The tower doors opened for him as he approached, the mantra of “ _Gotta get back, gotta check on everyone_ ” the only thing keeping him on his feet. He was too dazed to do more than realize there was movement around him, unable to track it, to hear a thing – but the elevator was just ahead. He was almost there.

The elevator doors opened and someone made to grab his arm. Clint’s reflexes meant he’d spun, swept his foot out and punched forward at the same time, a low growl reverberating through his body.

Everyone stepped back, except the one guard who was now flat on his back. Clint eased back into the elevator, trusting that JARVIS wouldn’t have shut the doors.

He didn’t relax until the doors closed.

“Common room, JARVIS – or wherever most of the Avengers are currently assembled.”

If JARVIS said anything in return, Clint hadn’t a clue. His aids had been one of the first casualties. His backups had followed 2 months later. With no way back to Tony, that was that. He’d had to make do with lip reading and signing in the rare few instances where conversation had been necessary.

The ride up was smooth as ever, but Clint’s stomach turned somersaults, his head was burning up, and he was swaying on his feet again. He stumbled sideways into the wall, and when his head came in contact with the cool surface, he groaned happily at the small relief.

Clint didn’t notice the elevator was stopped until there were hands touching him again. The touch was familiar and he was home, and he was tired and, and… he slumped into the touch, eyes managing to open and catch sight of Steve’s worried face.

Beside him was Tony, and behind them was someone Clint didn’t know. He forced out a grin, a couple of words and then his head swam and the world went dark.

* * *

It’d only been a couple of months, and Bucky was still wary of being off Steve’s floor, but Steve had assured him, more than once, that he could retreat there at any point should socializing with the other Avengers proved too much.

And it wasn’t like it was all that big of a group: Steve, of course, plus Howards kid, and Natasha. Also Sam, Thor, Banner and sometimes Rhodey or Pepper would stop by. There was another member, but Bucky hadn’t met him yet and several of the others were hardly around on a regular basis. So. Small group. It was better than walking around the streets of New York, twitching at every glance, wondering which of them might be coming for him, right?

Today, it was just Steve and Bucky, Sam and Tony. Small. Small enough not to cause anxiousness to rise in Bucky’s chest. He was already doing better. He’d run from HYDRA (and Steve) and after a few months of being left on his own, Bucky had dared to breath. In that time, his memory had come back, all those things HYDRA had ripped from his mind, and he’d relearned how to be a person as the brain matter healed.

It was slow, and he had nightmares – his therapist said those would likely never go away – but he was getting there. Enough that, one day, he’d woken up and decided it was time to find Steve.

So he had.

Turning up on the front steps of the tower, shaking hands shoved into his pockets, a cap pulled low over his head, he’d found himself swiftly surrounded till Steve reached the bottom floor. He’d vouched for Bucky, reminded the guards that he’d been a POW and needed help, and then Bucky had been whisked off to the Tower’s version of medical.

And that had been its own nightmare, but it had, at least, been so different than anywhere HYDRA had ever ‘worked’ on him that Bucky had been able to steel himself and submit to their poking and prodding. Their bedside manner had certainly helped in that regard, and the sight of Steve, never too far away, had eased the panic quite a bit.

He'd been there a while - days? Weeks? It’d blurred together – before he’d been given the green light and put into Steve’s care.

And now, here he was. It was hard to believe, but he was. The TV was on and Tony was chattering on about something while Sam puttered in the kitchen when Steve and Bucky arrived. Sam quickly commandeered Bucky, who had found he liked cooking, while Tony had taken Steve aside to show him… something.

It was all going well, the air smelling quite nicely of the meal he and Sam were putting together, when another voice spoke up.

“Excuse me gentleman, but we have a Medical Situation in the lift,” said JARVIS.

Bucky saw Steve do a quick scan of the common room, noting who was there and who wasn’t. There was hope and fear in his eyes. “What? Who?”

“It’s Agent Barton, Captain Rogers.”

Leaping to his feet from the couch he and Tony had been sitting on, Steve rushed towards the elevator, Sam and Bucky following along in case they were needed. Sam, with a curse, as he was pulling the chicken out of the oven when JARVIS had spoken.

“Sam, get a hold of Nat! Tell her we’ve found Barton – or, well, he found us,” Steve barked out.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a tall, bloodied man, slumped against the side wall, eyes closed, breathing roughly.

“Shit,” Steve said, reaching for the man.

He fell into Steve’s arms, not unconscious, not yet, but as if his legs wouldn’t hold him up a second longer. His eyes fluttered open and looked up at Steve.

“Hey, hey, I got you,” Steve was saying. “You okay? Clint?”

“My hero,” came a wheezed, but obviously snarky reply by the quirk of his lips. Bucky almost snorted. Then those gray blue eyes rolled up in his head and he _did_ pass out, becoming dead weight in Steve’s arms.

“JARVIS, Medical floor please,” Tony snapped out. “Everyone else, in or out.”

Reluctantly – there was no reason for him to go and Bucky avoided medical if he could help it – Bucky stepped back, far enough to clear the doors so JARVIS could close them, Sam darting in before they could close completely, phone held to his ear. He turned, looked at Bucky and mouthed. “Finish the food?”

Bucky nodded, grateful that, at least, he had something to do.

* * *

When Clint blinked his eyes opened to the familiar walls of the medical unit in the Tower, he groaned. Despite Starks attempt at making it more friendly for his friends, there was only so much a nice, lavender coat of paint with dark purple accents could do to disguise what it really was – a hospital room.

Light filtered into the room softly, though there were no blinds or curtains. He knew JARVIS had control of the tinting of the glass and that no one could see in even though he could see out. He looked around, finding the room empty outside of himself, the medical monitors, the IV unit and a clock. It was morning – of what day, Clint had no idea, but it didn’t matter.

An itchy feeling was crawling up between his shoulder blades already, a lead ball sitting in the pit of his stomach, memories pushing to be remembered. He caught them, shoved them back down at the same time as he shoved the blankets aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

There was no way he could stay here. He didn’t have any major injuries and as long as he got his round of antibiotics, he’d be golden. The difference between staying here and going back to his own room was a mere elevator ride several floors up. If there _were_ any complications, he could return, lickety split.

He _wouldn’t_ , unless he really had to, but he _could_.

With practiced ease, he decoupled himself from the IV, ignoring the trickle of blood the needle left behind. He could slap a bandage on it later. Maybe. Meh, it’d probably stop bleeding before he could. He stood, shuffling toward the wall with the built-in closet and drawers, finding a pair of pants to pull on over his boxers. He checked to make sure his gear wasn’t there and then he left, easily making his escape.

It was easier to escape from Tony’s medical personnel than the actual hospital, and Clint suspected that had something to do with the fact that JARVIS was able to monitor vital signs. He didn’t care, as long as no one gave him trouble about it.

Not that he wouldn’t give them trouble right back, but then Cap would give him his disappointed look and Nat would sigh. If the two of them ever teamed up, Clint was in trouble.

First stop was the common floor. He needed coffee. And maybe Nat would be there, though he suspected she wasn’t, else she’d have been in his room when he woke up. He’d only seen Steve and Tony last night. Well, and 2 perfect strangers as well. He still needed to find out if the others were okay, especially Nat. The others were well on their way to becoming family, but Nat _was_ family.

Still, of all of them, Clint had the most faith in Nat being able to survive the shitshow of the past few months, so he knew he shouldn’t worry as much as he did. But he couldn’t help it. Still hoping for Nat, he got on the elevator and called out for the common room, JARVIS putting it into motion almost before he finished the words.

And if not Nat, then maybe Tony.

Clint was going crazy without his ears.

* * *

Bucky froze when he got off the elevator the next day.

The man from the previous night was leaning against the counter, wrapped in bandages and loose pants – but no shirt, which only showed off exactly how many bandages the man was currently covered in. Cradled in his hands was a mug, steam rising from it. He wasn’t drinking, but the mug was held up high, just under his nose and his eyes were closed, a small, happy smile on his face.

“Clint,” Steve groaned. “Fuck.”

He pushed past Bucky and Bucky got his feet moving to follow.

“Clint, why aren’t you still in medical?” Steve demanded when he reached Clint. Bucky hung back, angling around them both to see if he could get at the coffee machine. He didn’t want to test the other man’s reflexes. He’d done some research with JARVIS’s help, and had pieced together who the man was with the way the team had talked about their missing comrade since Bucky had gotten here.

Not only would it be a bad idea – Hawkeye was apparently more than met the eye – but the man was injured, and surely such a reaction would only hurt Clint more, and Bucky didn’t want to be responsible for that.

There was no answer from Clint, even when Steve came to a stop right before him, hands on his hips with that disappointed and concerned look on his face. Bucky felt an eyebrow raise. This guy had a set of balls if he could ignore Stevie like that.

Bucky was impressed.

Steve frowned, cleared his throat, reached forward and tapped Clint’s arm. Clint’s eyes opened.

“Oh hey, Cap! Didn’t hear you come in,” he said easily, turning his head a little. Steve’s eyes tracked the movement and he sighed, shoulders deflating.

“Medical, Clint,” Steve said, enunciating carefully. It was clearly an order, and by the set of Steve’s shoulders it was also clear to Bucky that there was a hell of a lot more he wanted to say, but was – for whatever reason – holding back.

“I’m fine, Steve,” Clint said.

Steve opened his mouth, but he turned when the elevator chimed and Natasha strode off it, stalking towards Clint swiftly without pausing to glance at anyone else.

Bucky watched Clint’s eyes soften at the sight of her, watched a tension in the taller man’s body that Bucky hadn’t even been aware was there until it bled away. Bucky also saw the way Natasha moved, the expression on her face – she was happy, worried and determined, all at the same time.

She stopped before Clint. “You’re home,” she said softly.

“I’m home,” Clint answered.

And then she did something so un-Natalia like Bucky was shook, remembering too late that Natalia was Natasha now – the name change had come easier to him than remembering that she was different - and not the thing the Red Room had tried to make her. She had grown and become free, the way Bucky was now trying to do.

She hugged the man before her and held on tightly, somehow avoiding spilling the mug of coffee in Clint’s hands. Clint returned the hug one handed, tucking his face into her neck, closing his eyes briefly.

She pulled back, cupping his face in her hands.

“You should still be on the med floor,” she admonished.

Clint shook his head, dislodging her hands. “I’m fine.”

“You’re supposed to let the doctors be the judge of that,” she said.

Steve was being strangely quiet as the scene played out. Bucky had seen Natasha here or there since he’d come in, never for long before she was heading back out, looking for someone – for Clint – and despite the camaraderie she held with the rest of the team, it didn’t hold a candle to how she was with Clint.

Maybe they were together? He could ask Steve later.

Clint sipped at his mug noisily, before twisting to set it down. And then _he_ did something Bucky hadn’t expected. He signed. And Nat signed back, their hands moving with the ease of long familiarity and – oh, that’s why Steve had held back, had spoken simple words. Clint had literally meant it.

Their hands were fluid, poetry in motion and Bucky couldn’t look away though he should have. Bucky, his memory full of holes still or maybe he’d never fully learned the language - only caught bits and pieces, but it was enough to piece together a picture.

For whatever reason, Clint was refusing to stay an instant longer than he had to and when Natasha tried to push him on it, Clint then reminded her of… of something. Bucky hadn’t caught it.

Finally, she leaned forward, her hand reaching up for Clint’s cheek and bringing his head down to touch hers. It was an intimate gesture, somehow even more so than the hug had been, and Bucky was suddenly ashamed that he was staring, had essentially been eavesdropping as well.

He turned away, somewhat red-faced, just barely making out Natasha’s soft, “ _Fine, my hawk,”_ followed by, “ _Thank you, little spider,”_ all of it spoken in Russian, Clint’s voice barely any louder than hers.

“But I swear to god, Clint, if you do something stupid and tear out your stitches, I _will_ send you back to medical myself!” Nat bit out suddenly.

* * *

Clint gave Nat his best puppy dog eyes, eyes that even Nat wasn’t fully immune to, and nearly cheered in triumph when she caved. Even her threat didn’t diminish the grin on his face.

He was happy to be home, happy to see his friends safe. Well, most of them.

_Is everyone ese okay?_ Clint signed.

Natasha nodded. _You were the last one. You had me worried, I’ve been looking for you._

_I got back as soon as I could._

_I know. But don’t do it again._ She smiled, then her head tilted to the side and he followed her gaze, watching Tony approaching them.

“Hey, there’s our wandering Archer!” Tony exclaimed, Clint managing to catch the gist of it through lip reading and Natasha’s subtle signing out of Tony’s view. Tony got in close enough that Natasha edged back a bit to give the three of them space, and then Tony held out his hands. A hint of purple and curving edges had Clint eagerly reaching out.

“Tony, you’re a lifesaver,” he said gratefully, slipping them on without further ado. The world fell back into place. It wasn’t perfect. Perfect would have meant not losing his hearing to begin with, and no hearing aid could ever be as good as a human ear, but Starks were the best he’d ever used.

A tension left his body, Clint letting out a sigh, as the aids settled into place, as sound started filtering back in.

Steve stepped into view. “Clint – “

Clint held up his hand. “I _will_ take these right back out if you lecture me. I already went over all this with Nat.”

There was a snort over Steve’s shoulder and Clint refocused past him, having to lean around the bulk of Steve’s body – and there was considerable bulk there, too – to see one of the strangers from the night before, hovering close behind Steve. He was in a worn hoody, with dark, shoulder length hair and Steve was already turning around to look at him affronted.

“Bucky!”

“What? I’ve been on the receiving end of more than a few of your lectures, Stevie. I can understand the sentiment. Give him some space. Fella only got home last night and he’s injured.”

“Exactly! He should still be convalescing – “

“I am! This is called self-care, right here,” Clint protested, holding up the mug he’d just refilled. “And I’m going to mosey on over to that couch and relax. JARVIS? Can you load up dog cops?”

“Of course, Agent Barton,” JARVIS answered.

“See? If there was any cause for concern, JARVIS would have already tattled on me. I’m good,” Clint insisted. He hoped to hell Steve dropped it and nobody else raised a stink. He didn’t need any more people than Nat to understand exactly why he couldn’t make himself stay in his hospital room, no matter how luxurious Stark had tried making it.

Steve deflated and nodded, perhaps a trifle defeatedly, but at least he wasn’t going to continue forcing the issue. Instead, he introduced Bucky and a little later, Sam – the second stranger he’d seen the night prior. He settled in to watch Dog Cops, only startling a little when a plate of eggs crossed his view.

He followed the arm attached to it up, catching on the blue eyes of Bucky, who was nervously tucking a few strands of his loose hair back from where it’d fallen out of a loose bun, apparently.

Wait.

Bucky. Steve’s friend was Bucky. Just like his old friend from way back. What were the odds Steve would find two people with the same name to be friends with? It wasn’t exactly a common name, not like Jimmy or John or whatever. And… now that he thought about it, Bucky looked a tad familiar, despite the… long… hair...

_No, way_ … he thought.

“Barnes?” he blurted.

The man flinched, the plate wobbling as it still dangled in the air beside Clint’s face.

“Seriously? Wow!” Clint gushed, taking the plate before it could spill into his lap. He opened his mouth and Nat shoved some toast in.

“Don’t,” she said, even as Bucky backed away, looking paler than a ghost. _Awww, shit, no._ He hadn’t meant to make the man uncomfortable. Come to think of it, if Bucky wasn’t dead or _old_ like he should be (if either the reports _or_ his birthday was true), then… then how he’d managed to be here around 70 years later likely hadn’t been a good story.

And suddenly, Clint _really_ didn’t want to know.

He had enough of his own bad stories that he could certainly sympathize with him.

* * *

Bucky had blanched and backed up fast, hoping to escape the inevitable questions – it was obvious that Clint hadn’t been filled in on anything yet, and honestly, when would anyone have had the time? – but he saw realization cross Clint’s face, followed my sympathy and… _shame_?

From Steve, Bucky got it. The man could feel guilty over taking the last piece of chocolate cake. But Clint didn’t even _know_ him, so what on earth did he have to feel guilty about?

Had they crossed paths while Bucky was the Winter Soldier? He sat down heavily at the dining table and racked his brains. The memories had been coming back, sure, but he still had holes. Maybe… maybe Clint was one of them?

Fuck.

Throughout breakfast, Bucky sat with Steve and ate distractedly. His eyes kept drifting over to Clint and Natasha. Steve didn’t notice, or if he did, he was too kind to say anything right then, continuing to chat with Tony and, when he came in, Sam.

Natasha, Bucky knew already, at least enough that she wasn’t a stranger. But his first observation of her with Clint had been right – she was the most open with the other man than Bucky had ever seen, even in her brief stops at the tower before heading back out to look for, apparently, this guy.

The two talked quietly, or not at all, leaning in to each other. Nat carding her fingers through Clint’s hair as he slumped further and further sideways. Eventually, she caught his flagging body and pushed him up.

“Time for bed, my hawk,” she said.

Clint whined but moved when she poked and prodded him up off the couch and across the floor. Clint was taller than Nat, had more muscle too, and he moved with a similar grace that made Bucky suspect he could – at the least – hold his own with the Black Widow if he wanted…

But he moved easily when she steered him to the elevator, despite protesting the entire way. The doors slid shut and cut off Clint’s voice and suddenly the room felt a little bit colder than it had been.

Which… that was odd.

Bucky shook it off and finally put his attention back on breakfast and a vague ear on the conversation around him. Silverware clinked, Tony chattered and Steve hummed in all the appropriate places and when there was a lull in the conversation, Bucky found himself blurting out the question he’d meant to ask Steve in private, but apparently his mouth had other ideas.

“Is he her fella?” He near froze when the question escaped his mouth but forced himself to act normal – or _his_ normal, anyway. It was just a question. Idle curiosity. And why did it matter anyway?

“Uh, yeah, Buck,” Steve said slowly, a curious frown forming on his face.

“Besides you and Steve, they’re the only ones who don’t have their very own floors,” Tony said, digging into the remains of his third omelet. Despite not being augmented like him or Stevie, Tony could sure pack away a lot of food, Bucky had noticed. “Not for lack of trying, mind you. But then I found out and, well, far be it from me to break up the happy couple.”

Bucky nodded.

“Why do you ask?” Steve pushed.

Bucky shrugged.

“I dunno. Just figured I should know the dynamics of the team, maybe?” Bucky flailed for something reasonable. Even _he_ didn’t know why he asked, _or_ why he felt disappointed in the answer.

“Good idea. Heard you were quite the ladies’ man back in the day – and not just from the history books. I got that from dad himself. You’re definitely gonna want to hold back that 1940’s charm of yours. Don’t want to start any trouble,” Tony said more daintily around a mouthful of food then Bucky believed possible.

“Nah, I leave all the trouble startin’ to Stevie,” Bucky countered.

“Hey!” Steve protested. Bucky looked up without moving his head, peering at Steve through the curtain of his hair with a smirk. He needed a better way to keep it held back, but Steve’s mouth twitched as he held back a smile and Bucky was glad to have provided it.

* * *

Clint allowed Natasha to march him back to their floor, protesting more because it was expected then because he meant it. She was right. He was injured, he was tired, and he needed to rest.

He’d just needed to set eyes on everyone else first, get some peace of mind.

Too bad Bruce or Thor hadn’t been there, but Nat had assured Clint they were perfectly fine and there was no one he trusted more than Nat.

The elevator let them off on their floor, into the alcove before the main door that Tony had created for each living floor so that folks weren’t either barging into private spaces unannounced or tying up the elevator waiting for a ‘come in’.

She bustled him off to his room, tsking at the disaster it was he’d left it in, though she had to have been in there recently, which meant the tsk was more for show than anything else. The bed was made and had clean sheets and he knew he had Nat to thank for that. Dusty sheets from being gone all these months would have been nasty to deal with.

Just one more way Nat had his back.

She tucked him in and he yawned big, snuggling down into the blankets, aides already off and properly set aside on the night stand. Nat sat on the edge of the bed a moment, soothing his hair back – he was way overdue for a cut, his hair having grown out pretty long while he’d been on the run – and looking at him softly.

Finally, she leaned in, placed a chaste kiss on his forehead and stood _. I’m really glad you’re home now. I was worried for you. Sleep. I’ll be in my room if you need anything, just let JARVIS know._

“Me too,” he mumbled, too tired to sign back. “Thanks, Nat.”

She smiled again, then left his room, closing the door behind her.

Everyone they knew thought they were an item. They’d started it in SHIELD – a way to keep people off each other’s backs – and they’d seen no reason to stop the charade. In a way, they were. Neither of them had ever been so close to anyone else before, but it wasn’t what the others thought.

Only JARVIS knew that they never shared a room, or a bed, unless the nightmares became too much. Even he carried the fiction of their relationship status if the others inquired.

And it had also been the only way to keep Stark from gifting them an entire floor _each._ Neither of them would have been comfortable with it, or with being so far apart. Sharing it had been marginally better, though it was still too large.

They’d learned to get used to it, though. Eventually.

So despite becoming Avengers, and everything else, neither Clint nor Nat had seen a good reason to end the charade. If either of them had fallen in love with someone, sure, they’d end it and move on. But Natasha didn’t believe she could fall in love with someone and Clint didn’t think anyone would ever fall in love with _him._

After all, he had proof of that.

So, no big deal.

It’d been working for _years._

And you know the saying, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. So Clint? Wasn’t ‘fixing’ it. Wasn’t going to break something that had stood him _and_ Nat in good stead for over a decade.

Why would he? That was crazy talk, after all.

He yawned, his eyes gritty and as heavy as lead and Clint drifted off to sleep, dreaming of shoulder length hair and messy buns, of blue eyes and a stubbled jaw, completely unaware that something in the world – or maybe just him – had shifted, just a bit to one side and things were about to change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you asked for it, you've got it :P (okay, i was already planning on it :P)
> 
> This fills my last Winterhawk Bingo Square "Sharing a Snipers Nest"
> 
> Yes, i'm already writign the next chapter. :D

Even though his injuries weren’t all _that_ bad, Clint had been content to take it easy – both because he needed it after the past few harrowing months, and because it gave the others around him some peace of mind.

So for the next few weeks, he alternated between his and Nat’s floor and the common room, laughing with Tony, played fetch with the bots, catching up with Steve, cuddling with Nat and getting to know Sam and Bucky. Eventually, Bruce and Thor, Rhodey and Pepper all made appearances – Pepper and Rhodey first and more often, being easier to get a hold of then Thor or Bruce were.

The last bit of tension holding onto him floated away when he finally laid eyes on Bruce and Thor, letting Clint finally relax.

Of course, now he was presented with a new problem.

Too _much_ downtime.

He hadn’t been deemed well enough to go down to the range _or_ the gym, and Clint wasn’t ready to stick his nose back outside after being chased down for months on end.

Which left… socializing. Which wasn’t so bad, most of the time, but there were days when he’d really rather not.

Days when he woke up shaking and sweating and seeing _only_ blue.

Those days he didn’t bother with his aids, and he didn’t want company either. Not even Natasha could always help then, though she tried. Those days had him riding the elevator to the top of the tower, past Tony’s penthouse and going higher. Then when it spilled him out on the multilevel roof, he kept going, kept climbing.

On those days he disappeared, he knew Natasha told the others only that he was in his snipers’ nest, but not where it was. Of course _she_ knew, she always did, but she also knew when he needed space and when he was ready to come back and she’d let him be.

JARVIS knew, because JARVIS knew everything.

Tony… Clint wasn’t actually sure. It was his tower and his AI. Surely he had to know what existed on the top of his tower? Had to have known that the little room at the top had been commandeered and put to use?

But he’d never said a word and never invaded, letting it be Clint’s sanctuary from the world, just like Tony’s lab was his.

It wasn’t actually a sniper’s nest, of course, unless you counted it in the broadest senses – he _was_ a sniper and he _had_ turned the place into a nest.

It really was cozy, too, with indented shelving on the walls from the floors right up until the windows started and decorated in soft grays. The windows themselves had sill wide enough to be a sitting nook, if he so choose. The entire room was littered with pillows and blankets, all in black, silver and shades of purple too deep to ever be mistaken for blue. There was a weird tube system that could send things up and down that he made use of and he knew JARVIS got the bots to deliver his requests to the tubes so the _rest_ of the team didn’t figure out where he was hiding.

Since he’d gotten back, though, something odd had happened. Clint wasn’t sure, since it’d been a while, but he thought there were a few new books sitting on the shelves that he didn’t remember putting there. Then again, he’d gotten a number as gifts over the past couple of years. Maybe he’d brought them up here and then forgot about them?

He also – and he wouldn’t admit to this to anybody, not even on pain of death – had a few of those adult coloring books and a jumbo box of Crayola crayons.

He found the act of coloring to be strangely soothing. He didn’t get it, but it kept him busy and relaxed so he did it. Clint had even been thinking of branching out, maybe trying pencils or markers – he didn’t think he was ready for watercolors or paints yet. And almost the next day, those very things and a handful of sketchbooks were waiting in the tube for him.

Huh, that had been odd. Had Tony somehow given JARVIS telepathy?

And things like that kept happening. Strange new additions to the nest that weren’t actually out of the realm of possibility but just off enough to make Clint wonder if he was going crazy.

He found he actually did like that new book he’d found on the shelf the other day, so he shrugged it off and figured he _must_ have picked it up, and just plain old forgotten. Finally, after a week of no other evidence, Clint decided he was just being a paranoid spy and resolved to let it drop.

Which was easier said then done, of course. Some things were just second nature to him by now, honed by literally his entire life experience, so Clint looked around, checking for prying eyes as he always did before ducking inside his sanctuary and closing the door softly.

Then he turned around and froze -

Because, despite all that time he’d spent convincing himself that he was overreacting, there was already someone _in_ his sanctuary and _he_ had frozen too, shock and dismay all over his face.

“Bucky?”

“Shit, I'm sorry, is this your space?” Bucky scrambled to his feet. “I asked Jarvis when I first found it, he said nobody was using it –“

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Clint interrupted the obviously spiraling panic, quickly reevaluating the situation. “I ain’t mad. I mean, hell, he wasn't wrong, right? I wasn't exactly here.”

“I'll go.” Bucky shifted, frantically grabbing things – the book he’d been reading, a bottled soda set on one of the shelves, the shoes he’d kicked off - and Clint waved him back.

“Nah, man, you probably need the space even more than I do. Steve's kinda intense.”

Bucky at last paused, a wry smile spreading over his face. “You noticed that, huh?”

Clint snorted. “Who hasn’t?” Now that he had Bucky’s full attention, he continued. “But seriously, don’t leave. You have my permission to use this as often as you need to, okay? I totally get it.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked, giving Clint a strange look. “I don’t want to chase you out of your own space.”

“Absolutely,” Clint said with a shrug, taking a step back, fetching up against the door. He started to turn, reaching for the doorknob. “Now, I’ll get outta _your_ hair – “

“Don’t!” Bucky blurted loudly, nearly lunging forward before he yanked to a stop, not touching Clint.

Clint blinked. “What?”

“Don’t… leave? I mean, it’s… this was your space first. Maybe we can… share it?” Bucky’s question was, at once, both hopeful and uncertain. “Unless you’d rather be alone?”

* * *

The moment Clint had opened the door to the place Bucky had been making himself at home in for months, his stomach had turned into a churning mass of _something_ – so full of conflicting and half recognizable emotions - that he thought he might throw up.

Panic, first, at having been found there.

Guilt, then, for having so obviously intruded on someone else’s sanctuary.

Resignation followed, because of course he couldn’t stay here.

There was something else, too, something that always hit him whenever Clint came into a room. Something that made Bucky track his movements in a way that he was sure was misunderstood by everyone else as a threat assessment, but wasn’t.

Bucky just couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

And then he’d shake his head and hope that neither Clint nor Nat had realized why he’d _really_ been watching Clint, and the panic and guilt would set in again. But he’d really been enjoying time with Clint, getting to know him. There was definitely more to him then met the eye, as Bucky had first suspected, something that constantly tugged at him to spend more time with Clint.

So all of that pushed through him at the same time he felt a hopeful elation at simply _seeing_ Clint, as something warm suffused his cheeks. He let his hair fall forward to hide it, picking up his things as he babbled – _him, babbling! –_ and then stopped when Clint insisted that _Bucky_ stay.

He stared at Clint in confusion and worry. Why would _Clint_ need a safe space, a haven like _this,_ when he had his own floor with Nat? They were together. It wasn’t the same as him and Steve. One would think that being with one’s partner would be the best sanctuary there could be.

Of course, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Clint… didn’t. That he hung out in the common spaces nearly as much as Bucky did.

Why?

Confused, Bucky found himself only minutes later settling back into the many cushions and blankets. He wanted to sink into them and hide his embarrassment for the nearly violent outburst of words that had spewed from his mouth unbidden, his reaction when Clint had tried to leave.

What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

He resolutely didn’t think about that.

Soon enough, though, Bucky relaxed, though he was still hyper aware of Clint’s presence and his every movement. Clint had kicked off his shoes, set aside his aides after first making sure Bucky noticed him taking them out, then pulled a particularly well-worn, faded, purple and black blanket around himself and curled up with a book, eyes drooping as he read slowly.

Bucky tried not to stare, tried to turn back to his _own_ book – some classics he’d tracked down with JARVIS’s help, classics that had been brand new for _him_ before the war – but his eyes kept drifting towards Clint, to the crease in his brows and the dark circles under his eyes…

And he couldn’t help wondering again, why did _Clint_ need a place to hide? Why did he spend so much time outside of his own floor when he so obviously craved alone time? Why the need to hide at _all?_ He was just as obviously well loved by the team, particularly Natasha and Bucky certainly hadn’t seen too much hovering from her the way Steve tended to do to Bucky.

It was a puzzle, one that got him out of his head as he worried about someone else for the first time since… since he found out Stevie had used himself as a guinea pig. Something about Clint, despite his competence, made Bucky want to wrap him up in his arms and keep the world at bay.

Unsure of what to do with that, he tried to turn away, to turn his attention back to his book, grateful that Clint was asleep and completely unaware of the internal conflict revolving around Clint or the near permanent blush now gracing Bucky’s cheeks.

Eventually, soft snores filled Bucky’s ears, the book dropping from Clint’s lax hands and Bucky just let himself… stare. To look his fill, uninterrupted, unjudged, his own book now laying forgotten in his lap, a finger tucked carelessly between the pages to keep his spot.

He found himself strangely soothed by the soft sound of Clint’s snores and his breathing, by the rhythmic rise and fall of Clint’s chest, by the dusting of freckles across his cheeks that begged Bucky to count them and before he knew it, Bucky had also drifted off to sleep.

* * *

By unspoken agreement, Bucky continued to use Clint’s snipers’ nest and if either of them found the other already there, they’d nod at each other silently, gauging each other’s mood and proceeding from there, often just maneuvering around each other in a weird but graceful dance so that both could take advantage of the space.

There were no such expectations on Clint, which was exactly what he needed, and he didn’t put any on Bucky – for which he could almost _feel_ the other mans’ appreciation. And if there were a day where one of them in particular needed more than that, well, they’d worked out a method for communicating just that.

Some days though, some days were just hard to predict.

There came a day that had Clint on edge, but without any reason for why. It wasn’t much, and he’d thought just a quiet, relaxing few hours of reading might help, since he still wasn’t allowed access to the range – his number one zen method. But one moment, he’d been alone in the nest, sitting in the window nook, back up against the wall, staring out through the windows with his head pressed on the glass –

\- the next, Bucky was half kneeling in front of him, hands on Clint’s shoulders, talking with words Clint couldn’t hear, eyes wide with worry and maybe a bit of panic.

It was then that Clint noted how rough and fast his breathing was, that he had a death grip on Bucky’s throat – not that it seemed to be bothering him, augmented as Bucky was – and the other was… was…

Reaching for something that wasn’t there. Reaching for a weapon.

Clint threw himself back with a gasp, jerking his hand away from Bucky’s throat in horror. “Fuck!” His head slammed into the wall of the window nook and he cursed again.

Bucky reared back, holding his hands up, palms forward.

“You okay, doll?” Bucky asked gently.

Clint continued to stare at Bucky in horror, still breathing hard. “Jesus, Bucky – did I – “

“You did nothin’,” Bucky assured him.

Shaking his head, Clint’s eyes flowed downward, looking at Bucky’s neck. It was red, no bruises, and already fading fast.

Still…

“I attacked you, that’s not nothin’,” Clint protested.

“No more’n I deserve,” Bucky said.

“Oh, _hell_ no,” Clint snapped out, suddenly angry on Bucky’s behalf. “That’s not on you, none of that, okay?”

“Everyone keeps _saying_ that, but what do any of them know about what I went through?” Bucky suddenly snapped back, eyes flashing in both fear, anger and despair. It was enough to make Clint’s chest hurt, cause he understood. Fuck, but he understood more than Bucky _knew_. “How can any of them understand – “

“- being brainwashed? Hurting people – strangers, friends and family alike? Working for the bad guys? Doing things you later regret? Being part of a plan that was meant to take down the _world_ and doing a damn good job at it?” Clint said, the words falling out his mouth sharply cut but flat of emotion. “More of us than you think.”

He pushed to his feet, suddenly needing breathing room, the sniper’s nest feeling far too claustrophobic with Bucky there, with secrets spilling from Clint that he’d never meant to speak aloud if he could help it – because speaking it meant facing it, and he’d already done his stint with a therapist.

It hadn’t helped.

Bucky was staring at him with still wide eyes and Clint ran a hand over his face.

“Fuck, sorry. Didn’t mean to – “ Clint sighed, dropping his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna…”

“Clint, stop,” Bucky said softly. “Look, if it’s uncomfortable for me to be here right now, then I’ll leave. This was your space first and I appreciate you sharing it, but it’s fine. I don’t have a problem with that. But before I go, I’m sorry. I didn’t know – “

Closing his eyes, Clint sighed. “I’m surprised you don’t, to be honest. It’s not like the rest of the team didn’t know. That Steve didn’t tell you – I’m shocked. Hell, I half suspected the reason we hung out so much was cause Steve pointed you in my direction.”

“No!” Bucky shouted, then winced and continued in a lower voice. “No, nobody told me. And I don’t ‘hang out’ with you because of some… brainwashing camaraderie. I truly enjoy spending time with you.” He bit his lip, looking for all the world like he wanted to say something else but had decided against it.

For an instant, Clint was curious, but then figured it had been just the inevitable question of “ _What happened?”_ and really hoped Bucky didn’t decide to ask anyway.

The gods must be against him because Bucky _did_ open his mouth again and this time, words tumbled out, words that Clint would rather have not heard and he cursed himself for not moving fast enough.

“Is this why? What just happened here, is this why you don’t stay in your own apartment and hide here instead? Are you… are you afraid you’ll hurt Nat?” Clint could see Bucky swallowing even as he, himself, froze. “I mean, I get it. I’m so fucking afraid I’ll hurt Steve, like I did before. I…” Bucky shook his head. “Jesus, it must be so much worse for you, with Nat an’ all.”

And all what? Oh, someone must have filled Bucky in on Clint and Nat being ‘together’, even though they weren’t, really.

“I couldn’t imagine – it must be terrifying. To think that someone I was that intimate with could be in danger from me…” Bucky’s eyes were distant, and his body shuddered for a second before he closed his eyes and locked it down.

“You mean… you and Steve aren’t…?” Clint trailed off, his own curiosity getting the better of him.

“What? Fuck no!” Bucky blurted, eyes popping open. “That punk and me? I love Steve, sure but he’s my best friend, my brother. I could never…” Bucky shuddered again and Clint almost laughed. God, it was him and Natasha all over again, except that they _let_ people think what they wanted to think. Hell, they _encouraged_ it.

For a second, for the briefest of instants, Clint wondered if they should drop the pretense.

Chiding himself, his gut twisting all around, he shoved the thought away. There was no point to it. Things were good the way they were, weren’t they? Why challenge the status quo?

Unsettled again, in a wholly different way now, Clint edged around Bucky, watching Bucky’s face fall. Bucky turned towards the door, already moving to pass Clint.

“I should let you be – “ Bucky started.

“Look, you don’t have to leave on my account,” Clint said. “I’m gonna…” he waved his hand around vaguely, thinking about whether or not he could break into the range. He was more than well enough to be shooting again, in his opinion. “I’ve got something to do anyway. Uh, yeah, so… later.” He sent Bucky a weak little grin, found his shoes and snuck out of the nest, feeling Bucky’s eyes on him the entire way.

Well.

 _That_ was awkward.


	3. Impromptu Dance Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my brand new Bucky Barnes Bingo Card! Looking good!
> 
> New Bucky Bingo Square: Teambonding  
> New Clint Bingo Square: Breakup
> 
> THings are rough right now for a lot of people, including me. I'm still writing cause i need it for my sanity. Don't know if that'll change or not.   
> Stay safe guys!

The encounter on the roof gave Bucky much to think about. He still didn’t know _what_ had happened to Clint, but that something had – well, it had been fucking obvious. When he’d found Clint, the man had been in the throes of a nightmare, had reacted to Bucky’s presence without truly seeing him and then had been so horrified he’d run away.

Bucky felt like that often. He didn’t sleep much, these days, but at least he knew that Steve could take him long enough to snap Bucky out of it. Clint, though, he wasn’t truly sure how much the man was capable of. That he was human on a team of superheroes meant that there was more to him than a first glance would merit, just as Bucky had suspected. And Nat was just as human as he was and Bucky _knew_ what _she_ was capable of.

Had been part of making her what she was now.

He could probably have just asked someone, Steve at the very least, but that had felt too much like an invasion of privacy, never mind that Clint had thought Bucky already knew and that hadn’t seemed to deter the friendship they’d been building.

He looked up as the elevator chimed, spilling out a good chunk of the team. Steve had gone to a mission briefing that afternoon with the others and now had that ‘determined’ look on his face that barely covered the trepidation. Bucky didn’t think anyone else would notice it.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked.

“Undercover mission,” Steve answered. “Can’t tell you the details but…” he looked at Nat helplessly. “I need to know how to dance.”

Bucky stared.

Then he burst out laughing, doubling over and wheezing. Fuck, he didn’t think he’d laughed this hard in – how long? – and he couldn’t stop. Every time he tried, he’d take one look at Steve’s indignant face and start up again.

“I take it Steve can’t dance?” Sam said, easing around the roadblock that was Steve and heading for the fridge.

“I can to!” Steve retorted before deflating and admitting, “Just… not very well.”

Bucky snorted, the laughter threatening to overtake him again.

Clint clapped Steve on the shoulder as he sidled past him. “Don’t worry. Nat’ll sort you out in no time.”

Before Bucky knew it, JARVIS had music playing and Nat had Steve in her arms and she was showing him the steps of a few dances he vaguely recognized. After enduring a lot of commentary from Clint and Tony – the latter having come in halfway through the first lesson – and no little amount of laughing from Bucky, Steve had thrown up his hands and challenged the rest of them to do better.

And boy, had they.

Clint had taken the challenge first, much to Tony’s delight and cackling. But not even 30 seconds into Clint and Natasha’s first dance together, the rest of the team had fallen silent, Tony’s mouth dropping open and even Steve gaping.

“Barton can _dance?”_ Tony blurted. “How the hell – Clint, you’re way too clumsy to be that graceful!”

Natasha slid Tony a look. “You don’t even know the half of it – Clint is far more graceful than any of you know – and definitely more capable than some of you give him credit for.”

Something strange crossed Clint’s eyes, as if he expected some sort of comment that never came, but then it was washed away with a laugh that started off forced but morphed into something real as Nat murmured something to him, Clint throwing his head back as he did.

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off them. And he wasn’t the only one. At least _this_ way, nobody was speculating on _why_ he was staring and who he was staring at. The song ended and Tony cut in.

“That’s it, now I gotta prove myself. Outta the way, Barton, my turn,” he said, approaching Natasha. Natasha’s eyebrows rose pointedly and Tony hurriedly went one. “I mean, may I have this dance, m’lady?”

“Well, since you asked so politely…” she murmured.

Clint stood off to the side, grinning madly. “Damn, that was fun.”

They took it in turns, Everyone taking a spin with Nat except for Bucky who did his best not to call attention to himself, though he couldn’t help the occasional chuckle. Sam couldn’t dance worth a lick, but unlike Steve, he didn’t care. He laughed it off and took Nat’s instructions easily, and he’d improved immensely by the time they switched partners.

Pepper showed up partway through the impromptu dancing lesson, getting swept into Tony’s arms and swung about the common floor. She laughed lightly, blushing in Tony’s arms.

Partners switched about while Bucky watched. Pepper and Nat took a turn with each other, Tony tried to show Steve a few things and Steve – oh my god, Steve was _blushing_ so hard! Clint and Sam were energetic, Clint beaming and, and gorgeous, and, and, and -

And suddenly, Bucky wanted to go dancing.

With _Clint._ No one else. Just Clint.

But that was a whole can of worms that Bucky dared not open. So he swallowed down that desire – forbidden in an entirely different way than it had been back in the day. Bucky may not have to hide his attraction to men any more, but it would be bad form to lust after someone who was already attached to someone else.

Still, he just couldn’t stay away from Clint. They could still be friends, right? There was nothing wrong with that. And Bucky needed friends, aside from Steve. He was desperately lonely for someone who was just _there,_ who didn’t make Bucky feel guilty for not being the man he used to be, though he knew Steve _tried._

He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the couch, watching them all longingly, going unnoticed – or so he thought – before a sweaty Clint Barton was standing in front of Bucky with a huge grin on his face, hand held out.

“C’mon, join the party, Bucky. Steve told me you loved dancing. Can’t promise I know any of the older dances but I’m pretty flexible.”

Bucky’s face burned. The idea of Clint being _flexible_ was doing things to him he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Clint wriggled his fingers at him.

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve said, his voice suddenly by Bucky’s ear, making him jump. Steve was leaning over the back of the couch on his elbows, looking at him earnestly. “It’ll be fun.”

Eyes darting from Steve to Clint, Bucky nodded sharply, more sharply than he meant, swallowed and took Clint’s hand. Clint hauled him up easily, like he didn’t have a metal arm weighing a fuckton more than normal people, and drew him into the open floor space.

It was a fumble, at first, neither of them knowing where to start. But then Clint took the lead and Bucky just let him. It was strange, to be on this side of things. All his dancing had been back in the day, with dames, when the fellas did all the leading. But this was nice, a nice change. He did love dancing, once upon a time, but those old memories were kind of painful. Reminders of who he wasn’t anymore, reminders of things he’d been ashamed to want.

This was nice, the change of dynamic, learning a new dance… it helped Bucky take his mind off those things.

He tripped, though, more often then he should have, too caught in Clint’s eyes, or his smile, or the flush on his face, that bead of sweat. Steve teased him a little, but eased up when Bucky managed to send a panicked look his way and Steve’s mouth did a little ‘oh’ of realization and his eyes went sad and oh no….

He’d never _really_ come out to Steve, least not that Bucky could remember, and he’d remembered a lot from back then. He knew Steve would be okay with it, would fight anybody who wasn’t, but Steve knowing he had an unrequitable crush was… was…

There wasn’t anything Steve wouldn’t do for Bucky, the same way Bucky had always been for Steve. To have Steve look at him sympathetically, ask him how he could help when there was nothing _to_ help –

Suddenly, all Bucky wanted was to get out of there. But if he did, he’d lose Clint’s hands on his arms, Clint’s presence so close to him, the heat of his body. If he did, if he left so abruptly that the song hadn’t even ended yet, someone might misinterpret – or worse, interpret correctly – and he wasn’t ready for the truth to come out, any of it.

He might actually die of embarrassment, of the mortification of everyone knowing how bad he had it for an already taken man.

They’d judge him, perhaps. Maybe even begin to eye all his interactions with Clint with suspicion.

He stumbled once more as the song came to an end and Clint looked at him with a grin. Around them were all smiles and breathy laughter and Steve looking sadly at him.

“You ain’t half bad, Bucky,” Clint said.

“I’m certainly better than Stevie,” Bucky agreed, backing up a step. The music started again and Clint reached for him but Bucky shook his head, backing up another. Clint’s smile faded a little, just around the corners, as his hands fell away. The smile was still there, but it was less bright, less radiant and that was Bucky’s fault. “I’m sorry. It’s… everything is…”

“A bit too much all at once?” Clint asked, giving Bucky an out – whether intentionally or not – and Bucky latched onto it with a nod.

“Yes, yes, I just… I need a breather. Thank you, for the dancing. It was… it was fun,” Bucky managed as he continued to back up, before almost bolting – no, don’t bolt, it would look suspicious! – for the elevator.

As soon as the doors shut, cutting off the music and everyone, Bucky slumped over, letting his head hit the doors.

Fuck.

He was totally and completely fucked.

<<< \----- *(**) ----- >>>

It’d been a pretty good day. After the mission briefing, the impromptu dancing had been so lighthearted. He’d seen Bucky laughing, and that had been a gift in and of itself. He’d seen the way Steve blushed around Tony, and Sam doing the same around Nat.

And then Clint had gotten Bucky to dance with him and that had been great, right up until Bucky had excused himself from the makeshift dance floor and from the company entirely.

There’d been a scare partway through when Clint had been sure someone would have responded to Nat’s comment with something along the lines of “We _all_ know what Clint’s capable of. We were there when he tried to take us down” but nobody had. None of them _ever_ had and he knew he was being sensitive.

The nightmare from the other day was still lingering around him, and the dancing had been just the thing to lighten the mood.

These were his teammate, his friends – maybe even bordering on family, these days. And moments like today showed it.

Bucky had been enjoying it, Clint was sure, but he’d been out on the sidelines, on the outside looking in. Maybe it hadn’t been smart to pull him into the thick of it, but Clint didn’t want Bucky to feel left out (and if there was more to it than that simple desire, Clint didn’t have to admit that to anybody, least of all himself).

They’d managed a few dances, Bucky letting Clint lead, but before Clint could suggest switching it up, maybe have Bucky teach him a lindy or something – that’s what they danced back then, right? – Bucky had suddenly shut down, the blank look he got when was feeling a bit overwhelmed, and had made his excuses.

Clint got it, he did, so he’d let him go, kept the others from holding Bucky back and watched him leave. It would take Bucky awhile to feel comfortable with everyone enough to participate in more things than mealtimes and movie nights or one on one conversations. He’d get there.

The dancing died down eventually, Pepper taking Steve aside to give him a few pointers maybe or just talk, Clint wasn’t sure.

Her mission partner thus distracted, Clint found Nat joining him in the kitchen as he started the coffee pot. The coffee maker burbled and he turned his back on it, leaning against the counter with his arms cross in front of him, smiling down at her.

“Think he’s gonna be able to pull it off?” Clint asked.

Nat smiled back. “He’ll get there.”

“I’m just glad that there’s _something_ Captain America _can’t_ do,” Sam said, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water. Clint laughed. He’d heard how Steve and Sam had first met, before everything else had gone down.

Sam swallowed the bottle down in one gulp, Nat watching him intently – for her, if you knew how to read her, and Clint _did_ know. He snapped up another one, winked at Clint and Nat before walking way.

“Now, excuse me, if Pepper’s done with Steve, I’m gonna lord it over him while I can,” Sam tossed over his shoulder.

Nat’s mouth twitched in a smile as she watched him go.

 _You like him, don’t you?_ Clint asked, turning and signing it.

 _Like you should talk,_ Natasha returned. _I’ve seen how you look at James._

 _I have no idea what you mean,_ Clint tried to send back loftily. She, as usual, saw right through him and his own self-denial. He swallowed. Looked away.

She reached for his chin and turned him back towards her.

_Maybe we should stop? Come clean with the others?_

Clint shook his head. _They’ll be mad, us lying to them._

 _We need to tell them eventually, Hawk_.

 _No, we don’t. We can just say we broke up. They never have to know the full truth._ He didn’t want to see the disappointed look on Steve’s face when they realized that they’d been lying this whole time. Or the hurt on Tony’s when he inevitably believed that they still didn’t trust him, despite everything.

_It’s just another lie and I’m tired of lying. Especially to people we care about. They’re our family now. They chose us, it’s time we chose back. Don’t you think?_

Clint closed his eyes, tipping forward to rest his head against hers. She was right, but he was scared. But if she wanted to pursue Sam, who was he to get in her way. He nodded, a lump in his throat.

“It’ll be fine,” she whispered.

A step, deliberately made to warn them of its approach, broke them apart. Steve stood there, looking guilty.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Nat, I’m sorry if I’ve caused any problems between you two.”

Clint stared at Steve blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“This mission. I know you’re her usual partner, and then all of this – “ Steve waved towards the main area. Pepper and Tony were now standing close, swaying in place, whatever music still playing was soft, or maybe they were swaying to the music in their own heads.

“The dancing?” Clint asked. “Nah, I loved it. Can’t wait for the next time. It’s been awhile since I got to show off like that and just enjoy it.” Steve thought Clint was jealous, he realized. Nat was right, for more reasons than one. If they pretended to break up now, then Steve would feel guilty for it, even if they assured Steve he wasn’t responsible.

 _Okay, we come clean. When?_ He signed over to Nat.

_Tonight, when we’re all here for dinner._

Tonight. Okay. He could do this.

A tiny, hopeful part of him wondered what Bucky would make of the news.

And then Clint tried to squash it. It wouldn’t do to get his hopes up. Besides, he barely knew the man. And Bucky probably wasn’t ready for anything like that anyway. It was far too soon to get his hopes up.

Oh crap. If he was thinking in terms of when, rather than if, he was in trouble, wasn’t he?


	4. Welcome Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told y'all writing is my happy place - i had half this already written and my mom is tentatively on an upward tend but i stayed home anyway, so, have a new chapter
> 
> this chapter could have filled TWO of my bucky barnes squares and i had to CHOOSE ONE !!!! ONE!!!!  
> I'm officially putting this down as the "Stark Tower" square

There was a steady knocking at the door that Bucky tried to ignore. He’d initially gone up to the little nest on the roof, but he’d eventually forced himself to leave, not ready to face Clint again should he show up.

So now he was here, in his room on Steve’s floor and who else would be knocking? Bucky debated continuing to ignore him but, Steve was stubborn. Which meant that of course the punk wasn’t going to leave him alone.

Sighing, he got up and answered the door. Instead of seeing Steve’s concerned face, however, he saw a man on the verge of panic.

“What the fuck is going on?” Bucky asked, eyes narrowing. This, _this_ was familiar. “Who do I need to hurt?” He almost winced at the words, because he didn’t want to hurt anybody anymore, but they’d slipped out of his mouth automatically, a familiar ritual from the early days, before the war.

“What? No! Not that kind of – argh, I don’t even _know_ anymore,” Steve said, throwing up his hands. “Pease, I need to talk to _someone_ before I burst.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Hold your horses, punk,” Bucky said, pushing past Steve and closing the door behind him. He’d been maintaining a strict – nobody else in his room except for emergencies – policy and he was going to stick to it. This conversation could happen in Steve’s living room.

He got them both settled on the couch before he turned towards Steve. “All right, out with it.”

“Tony’s flirting with me,” Steve blurted. “And Pepper’s okay with it.”

That… wasn’t what Bucky expected at all. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Steve started laughing and it was maybe a little bit hysterical. “During the dancing. You know I like Tony. I just… I do. I can’t help it, even though he’s with Pepper. And then he was flirting with me but you know how Tony is, so I tried not to put any weight on it. Then Pepper drew me aside after you left and she told me it was okay. She said - Oh my god.”

Steve’s face turned bright red and he hid behind his hands.

Bucky waited him out. Steve may be stubborn, but Bucky had the patience and knowledge of dealing with a stubborn Steve. He knew when to give up and when to wait. And Steve was bursting at the seams. It’d all come tumbling out eventually.

Groaning, Steve threw himself back into the couch dramatically. Because the ass had always been a dramatic little punk.

“Pepper said that she didn’t have any interest in me, but that Tony _did_ , and that she wasn’t always there when he needed her, couldn’t _be_ what he needed either. And that she’d always known she might have to share Tony, his heart was too big not to, and there was nobody else she could trust better with his heart than me. Fuck, Bucky, she gave me and Tony her fucking _blessing.”_

He could feel his eyebrows shooting up. “Blessing for what, exactly? Fuck buddies? A threesome? A one night stand?”

“Dating!” Steve nearly wailed. “A full on relationship. Not between all of us. More like, her and him, me and him, but never her and me or all three of us.”

“Huh,” Bucky said thoughtfully. Was this a new thing? It wasn’t unheard of to have multiple partners – Bucky had some very happy memories he liked to hold onto late at night, sometimes - but it usually wasn’t a _relationship._ What Pepper was suggesting certainly was, unless Steve had misheard her.

Which Bucky was willing to bet Steve hadn’t.

Wildly misunderstood was _not_ off the table, however. But maybe…

“You’re acting like this is a bad thing,” Bucky pointed out flatly. “If more people ascribed to that sort of thing – “ He cut himself off with a shake of his head. This wasn’t about him, it was about Steve. He could think of his own situation later.

Steve, of course, wasn’t having any of it. he latched onto Bucky’s words like a dog with a bone. Or, y’know, Stevie, with a cause.

“If they did, you’d be with Clint, you mean?” Steve asked, far too shrewdly for Bucky’s liking.

“Shut up, punk. We ain’t talkin’ about me, we’re talkin’ about you.” Bucky tossed a pillow at Steve. Steve caught it without taking his sad eyes off Bucky, pulling the pillow in to cradle against his chest with a soft sigh and a mournful little pout.

“Can’t we talk about both?”

“Not if you want to keep all your teeth,” Bucky bluffed. He was full of hot air, and Steve knew it. Steve edged closer, turning to curl up against the side of the couch, leaning his head on his hand, the other still clutching that pillow tightly, like a shield.

“Look, if Pepper’s okay with it, and Tony wants to pursue you, and _you_ want Tony to be your fella, then what’s the problem?” Bucky asked.

“What if I don’t measure up?” Steve asked, his voice far too quiet for Bucky’s liking.

“Then he’s an idiot.” Bucky snorted.

“Tony’s a genius!” Steve snapped, bolting upright, his eyes flashing defiantly in defense of his crush. It was too adorable.

“Doesn’t mean he’s not a fucking idiot,” Bucky reiterated. “Steve, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ve seen the way Tony looks at you. He’s liable to eat you alive.”

“Yeah,” Steve asked breathlessly, eyes going distant. Bucky did _not_ want to know what he was seeing in his head. Steve shook it off, giving a firm, decisive nod. “Okay, you’re right. I’m going for it.”

“Of course I’m right,” Bucky agreed. “You’d save a lot of time if you just listened to me in the first place.”

“Is that so?” Steve asked, eyebrow quirking up.

“You better believe it,” Bucky grinned back, hoping (possibly against hope) that Steve would be distracted from pursuing Bucky’s side of things.

He wasn’t that lucky of course.

* * *

Dinner was too far away.

Clint was beginning to wish that he and Nat had agreed to come clean a lot later in the day than they had. This anticipation and worry was going to _kill_ him.

He knew this stemmed from a lot insecurities, a lot of bad past experiences. He knew the Avengers were nothing like his blood family, or his foster family or even the circus. But he couldn’t help but believe that they’d be angry with them over this.

 _How_ angry was the question. Would they give him the silent treatment? Be passive aggressive? Kick him off the team?

Oh fuck, don’t let them kick him off the team!

He knew it was unlikely. He knew he was overreacting, but once his brain latched onto that one thought, he couldn’t let it go.

Clint found himself up in his snipers nest at the top of the tower, huddled in the blankets and curled around a pillow. Bucky wasn’t here and that was both a relief and a disappointment, but the _scent_ of Bucky was all over the place. How Clint had missed that the first few times around was a mystery, a huge clue that the space had been ‘invaded’ but right now Clint not only didn’t care, he was glad for it.

It was comforting. Probably more comforting than just about anything other than being down in the range and having his bow and arrows in hand.

And that was straight out after the last time he’d broken in and JARVIS had tattled on him to Steve.

Not Tony.

Steve.

With the disappointed face as he tried to sit Clint down for his concerned lecture. Like Steve didn’t do just as stupid shit when he felt like it. Hypocrite. At least Clint never jumped out of an airplane without a parachute.

A grappling arrow totally counted, right?

Despite the anxious pit of worry gnawing at him, Clint managed to fall asleep. Despite not being cleared for the mission, he’d been in the briefing since he had intel that the others would need. Then the impromptu dancing had been a welcome and tiring diversion for a still healing Clint.

So what if he _had_ fucked up his ribs and his wrists on the way back to the tower? He could still shoot and he could still dance.

Anway, the nap did him good, and he woke up slowly, without jolting or any nightmares. For a few moments, he even forgot what had sent him up here to begin with and he focused instead on what it had felt like to hold Bucky in his arms, to see him light up with mirth and exertion. Even when he tripped, he was adorable, when he moved, he was fluid.

What if he could hold Bucky like that for real? Or more often?

Nat’s plan would make it an option, at least, as long as Bucky was on board with it. Clint just had to focus on that. On the good that could come from admitting their lie. Not his fears, because he knew he feared the worst even though it wasn’t likely to happen. Life had shaped Clint that way. He’d learned to hope for the best, to balance his inevitable fears for the worst.

He was lucky he was in a place that hoping for the best instead of the worst worked out more often than not – alien invasions and doombots and various super villains notwithstanding.

Clint needed to believe in his teammates.

This didn’t stop the frisson of worry that ran through him as he stood and stretched. Or when he wandered back down to his and Nat’s floor and took a much needed shower. He should probably launder the blankets he wrapped his sweat soaked self in too, come to think of it.

Eh, he’d do it later.

Him and Nat went back to the common room together. Thor was offworld, but for the most part, the rest of the team – and a few extras – were there. There’d be no better time than the present, especially as Steve and Nat would be leaving for their mission in the next couple of days, as soon as the prep work - like teaching Steve to dance – was finished.

Speaking of Steve, him and Bucky were the last to arrive but when they did, everyone started migrating towards the table. Nat sat across from him, further away than Clint wanted, but she stretched her legs to tap against his feet and he relaxed slightly.

Every nerve was a jitter with tension and anxiety.

Everything would be all right.

They were going to kick him out.

He wasn’t anything special – just a guy with a bow.

No, they were his family. A family that meant more to him than any other because he’d chosen this family and they had chosen him.

They could do this.

Like a Band-Aid.

They could do this.

* * *

Something was up.

The instant Bucky and Steve stepped off the elevator, Bucky could feel it. There was some sort of anxious quality to the air and he didn’t think it was Steve or him. Not that they weren’t both anxious, they absolutely were – Bucky because he’d have to face Clint and Steve because he’d never successfully wooed someone before – but this was different.

He scanned the room as everyone approached the dinner table and his eyes settled on Clint.

It was Clint, he realized, whose shoulders were tensed, nearly hunched in. Nat was standing next to him, her shoulder brushing against Clint’s. Then she tapped his hand and Clint turned.

Bucky had been brushing up on his sign for those times he and Clint were together in the little rooftop nest and Clint had taken his aides off, and he hadn’t meant it to mean he was eavesdropping, he really didn’t, but he didn’t take his eyes away fast enough and then he was too concerned not too.

 _It’ll be fine,_ Nat signed.

 _They’ll be mad,_ Clint signed back, pulling a face. _See if they’re not._

_You want to call this off?_

_No, no, you’re right, we have to do it. Doesn’t change the fact they’ll all be pissed off that we’ve been lying to them. What if they kick us off the team?_

_That’s not going to happen,_ Nat reassured him.

Bucky forced himself to look away, despite the worry now churning in his gut. What the hell had they done? What was going on? If he didn’t misinterpret, he’d be finding out soon enough. Would he be angry? He couldn’t imagine anything they said that would make him angry personally, but then, whatever they’d lied about, they’d been lying to the others for far longer than they had him.

That might make a difference.

But if the team could forgive the things he’d done, surely nothing Clint or Nat said tonight could really be any cause for strife. Whatever anger there was, however rightfully so, would surely be short lived, like a freak hailstorm in summer.

The dinner was a noisy affair, as usual. Tony sat at the head of the table with Steve on one side and Pepper on the other and Buck on Steve’s other side. Sam sat next to Pepper and to Bucky’s surprise, Nat sat next to Sam.

That left Clint at Bucky’s elbow and across from Nat while Bruce was on the other side of him. Rhodes had joined them this time, and he sat at the other end of the long table, Tony making kissy faces at him while Rhodes rolled his eyes.

Bucky eyed them both carefully, hiding behind his hair. Maybe Pepper had gotten it wrong? What if it was _Rhodes_ that Tony was after? That would break poor Steve’s heart. Dammit, he’d been picking up after Steve’s broken heart for far too long. When would the fella catch a goddamned break?

They hadn’t been eating long when Nat cleared her throat and Clint froze, dropping his fork to the plate with a loud clatter. His shoulders hunched in further and he resolutely did _not_ look up.

“So, Clint and I have something to tell you all,” Nat said, her voice steady and calm, but Bucky could see the fine tremble in her fingers as she signed to Clint after Clint was jolted by something under the table – she’d probably kicked him. _Like a band aid._

_Band-Aids still hurt, trust me. I’m an expert on band aid style injuries._

“Fuck!” Tony exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “Are congratulations in order? JARVIS, we need champagne!”

“No,” Nat said firmly. “JARVIS, belay that. Clint and I are not engaged. In fact, we’re not even romantically involved.”

The silence around the table was deafening and Clint had gone even stiffer beside Bucky and Bucky’s own head was whirling at the implications of that statement.

“I don’t understand, are you two breaking up?” Steve finally asked the question Bucky was sure everyone was dying to ask, not just him. His eyes flickered to Sam and Bucky followed them. Sam was sitting unnaturally still, eyes on Natasha, obviously invested in the current news.

Huh, so that’s how it was.

“Can’t break up something that never was,” she said calmly.

“Sorry we lied!” Clint blurted suddenly, looking about the table warily. “It was something we fell into, back in SHIELD. It made… certain things easier, _especially_ for Nat and we just… never stopped. There was no reason to. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, y’know? By the time we became Avengers, it had become a habit. We didn’t _mean_ to lie!”

Oh.

 _Ooooooh…_ Bucky blinked at the words. Everything made sense now, but he was still processing it. The others were just as stunned into silence.

If Nat and Clint weren’t together, if they were _never_ together, then maybe… maybe Bucky stood a chance? Maybe Bucky wasn’t so horrible for pining after the other man, because Clint wasn’t taken – had, apparently, never been.

Clint fidgeted in his seat, eyes darting around. “On a scale of 1 to 10 – 1 being a slap on the wrist and 10 being kicked out of the tower – how mad are y’all?”

“I don’t know about them, doll, but I ain’t mad in the slightest. Actually, kinda the best news I’ve heard all day,” Bucky said, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. The old charm was dripping from each syllable, yet it was also sincere in a way he had never managed back in the day.

Because he truly liked Clint, truly wanted to see if they could have something together.

Clint was staring at _him_ now, all traces of his anxiousness gone and it was Bucky’s turn to blush and wonder if he’d gone too far.

“I hate to agree with Barnes,” Sam broke in, looking at Nat out of the corner of his eyes briefly before snapping back to Clint. “But he’s right. I know I ain’t mad, but then, I haven’t known y’all as long as you guys have all known each other.”

Steve, looking thoughtfully between Bucky, Clint and Nat, pursed his lips together and nodded. “I’m good.”

Rhodes snorted. “Fuck do I care who you’re dating. As long as it’s not causing any trouble.”

Pepper lifted her glass to Nat. “I think I understand where you were coming from. It can be tough out there for us. If Clint made an aspect of your life a little easier to bear, I think we can handle the lie. It isn’t as if you two _aren’t_ close. It’s readily apparent that you two are family. That it’s not as lovers, makes no difference to me.”

Tony’s girlfriend was, all things considered, very level headed and understanding and a whole slew of other words. Bucky was sure that had something to do with the fact that she was _Tony’s_ girlfriend.

Clint was looking around, gaping. “Seriously, you’re all okay with this? With the lying?”

“Of course I’m not!” Tony said, pounding on the table, the dishes on his end rattling dangerously. “I need to reevaluate the building plans. You should have had your own floor from the start and we need to fix that, stat! JARVIS!”

Dinner forgotten, Tony pulled up holographic schematics, right then and there and started muttering to himself, Pepper shaking her head at him fondly.

Clint was still gaping, even as Natasha tried to calm Tony’s fervor. “I’m sure this can at least wait till after dinner?”

“Nope. We’ve wasted far too much time as it is. Not a second more,” Tony said.

Clint slumped back into his seat, boneless in his relief. “Huh.” He blinked. “Well… all right then. I guess…” he trailed off, picking up his fork and poking at his dinner once more.

Bucky watched it all with a strong satisfaction. He may not be part of their team, but this _team_ was more than that, they were a family, pulling others into their orbits and supporting each other through the rough patches.

This tower was a monstrosity – large and shiny and expensive – and it was filled with warmth, and family and generosity.

Bucky was proud to call this tower home, and to live in it with all of these people, even those he was still learning how to be comfortable around.

He tucked into his food, keeping one eye on Clint, who kept pausing and staring about in incredulous awe and incredible gratefulness, and the other on Nat – who was keeping one eye on Clint and the other on Sam, interestingly enough.

She caught Bucky’s eye and smirked. With a nod towards Clint, she gave him a wink and Bucky blushed.

At the end of the table, Rhodes face had gone blank, “Oh hell, no. ‘ _Come to the Tower, Rhodey, I’ll give you your own floor, Rhodey. You’ll love it!_ ’ Like hell I will. Locked in a tower with a bunch of idiots dancing around each other? It’d be like living in a godamned soap opera. College, all over again,” Rhodes muttered. It was so soft, Bucky knew no one was supposed to hear the mumble, but Steve choked on a bite of steak and Bucky had to pound Steve’s back with his arm while Tony was suddenly looking at Steve in alarm, schematics abandoned.

Steve waved him off. “I’m fine, Tony.”

Rhodes eyed Steve suspiciously, his gaze transferring to Bucky for good measure. Bucky gave him his best, innocent look.

He didn’t think Rhodes bought it. Shame.


	5. Knitting and Naps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fills two squares;  
> Clint Barton Bingo: Fingering & Bucky Barnes Bingo: Knitting
> 
> I SWEAR this is SFW - if you're a knitter, you already get the joke :D

The realization of what exactly Clint’s (and Natasha’s) confession _really_ meant didn’t truly hit until later that night. Much later. Late enough that it was actually morning. Bucky woke from a rather… steamy… dream, unable to return to sleep as the true extent made itself very, very clear to him.

Unable to settle after that, Bucky climbed out of bed and snuck out of the apartment and into the nest he’d been sharing with Clint.

He was fidgety as hell when he reached the place that had quickly become a sanctuary, and had remained so even when he’d realized he’d needed to share it. Far too jittery for one of his books, and obviously no chance of a nap, Bucky cast around for something else. There were Clint’s coloring books and a few of the art supplies Bucky had supplemented with but something else drew his eye, something more appropriate to the moment. Something that could occupy his fingers while leaving his mind to roam (though he knew exactly where it was roaming).

Perfect.

He drew out the basket that had mysteriously (not so mysteriously, Bucky thought fondly) appeared on the shelf under one of the windows. It was filled with yarn that JARVIS had helped him procure, in addition to a variety of knitting needles and instruction booklets and a few other odds and ends that would eventually become useful. Bucky had brought it all up with him on a previous excursion and had even showed a curious Clint a little bit too.

Clint, of course, had picked it up fairly easily.

Bucky started winding one of the balls (a bright purple one, he idly noted) unsure of what he would make and just planning to let his fingers do the walking. 

It was still early morning; early enough that he didn’t think anyone else would be awake, unless they were plagued with the same nightmares that were Bucky’s usual night time companions, chasing the sleep away. Sometimes they were so bad, he’d crawl in bed with Steve, seeking reassurance that this, the tower, was real. That he was no longer a slave to HYDRA.

As embarrassed as Bucky was with _how_ he woke today, he was glad, at least, that it wasn’t from a nightmare. Steve had his own worries at the moment and Bucky didn’t want to pile yet more on top of him.

Knitting had been a soothing activity once, as well as necessary, and he was hoping to recapture that soothing quality. Maybe it would help him think.

Clint and Natasha weren’t together.

Natasha was, possibly, interested in Sam.

Clint was, possibly, interested in Bucky? He hadn’t rebuffed Bucky’s all too clumsy advance. That had to be a good sign.

And Clint came up here to hide as often as he did because… because Clint and Nat _weren’t together_. He needed the space, just as much as Bucky did. And Bucky… he didn’t need to hide from _Clint,_ because however Clint might feel, Bucky was not being inappropriate towards a man who was in a relationship – because he _wasn’t._

Bucky’s brain continued to get stuck on that singular thought even as his fingers moved, unfalteringly, casting on his circular needles. He thought it might be a hat. He wasn’t sure yet. He quickly lost himself in his thoughts, his fingers moving with a surety unmatched in the rest of him.

Gone was the smooth Bucky from the 40’s but what most people didn’t realize was how insecure Bucky had always been about the whole deal. Of course, part of that had something to do with playing a part, with denying a portion of himself the right to exist. He’d never been quite as brave as Stevie, so willing to fight the world for his principles.

He’d rather have stood for those he cared about, and back then, that had been his ma, his sisters, and Stevie – and later, even Peggy and Howard and the Howling Commandos. He’d move heaven and earth for them, but for himself?

Bucky had never quite felt worth it, not when he knew he was lying to everyone around him. Not completely – the word he’d found was ‘bi’, apparently – but just that small thing, that small bit of potential in himself, had felt like a chasm between him and everyone around him.

He no longer had to hide. Neither did Stevie. Had Stevie been the same as Bucky this whole time? Had the two of them, as good as friends as they were, still hidden bits of themselves from the other? Or was Steve what Clint called “Tony-sexual”?

Resolving that it didn’t really matter, Bucky sighed, pausing to sip from his bottle of water.

The door opening suddenly was no longer a cause for alarm, because only Clint would be opening that door, and at this hour too. Bucky looked up, noting the circles under Clint’s eyes.

“Can’t sleep?” Bucky couldn’t help the obvious question falling from his mouth.

Clint shrugged, slumping into the pile of blankets and pillows – which might have grown since they’d first realized they were sharing the same space.

“Nah, too keyed up from earlier,” Clint said, yawning. “God, I’m so fucking tired and my body just won’t cooperate for shit.”

“Been there,” Bucky grunted. “But all in all, I thought tonight went well. You were worried folks’d be mad, but they ain’t.”

“No, they’re not,” Clint agreed. “It was really the best outcome I could have hoped for and its sorta unreal to me.”

“You guys are like a family,” Bucky said. “YOu really thought they woulda done that?”

Clint shrugged, digging into Bucky’s basket with a raised eyebrow and questioning look. Bucky just nodded and waved him on. Clint took his time selecting a yarn and a project book as he answered.

“Well, I mean, wouldn’t have been the first time people I thought were my family turned my back on me. Or turned out to be bad guys. My record for being a good judge of character is rather lacking at this point,” Clint said. “I was thinking of fingerless mittens. Are those hard?”

Bucky shook his head. “Hardest part is probably the thumb. But I can help you with that. You might want a different yarn though. That stuff’s pretty, but it’s fingering yarn. I don’t think any of the patterns we have call for it, and it can be tricky to use if you’re a beginner.” Bucky glanced at Clint. “Then again, you’ve got pretty keen eyesight, that might not be so much a problem for you.”

“Hmm… maybe, but I’ll start with something thicker anyway, if you think it best,” Clint said. there was laughter in his voice. “What good is fingering for anyway?” Clint continued to snicker and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Real cute, doll,” Bucky drawled. Clint’s snickers turned into guffaws as he collapsed into Bucky’s side. “Fuck, you _are_ tired. You’ve gone loopy.”

“No, I haven’t,” Clint chortled, his breath warm against Bucky’s side. “I haven’t even _started_ to knit yet!” He giggled some more and Bucky’s fingers paused as he just stared down at the ridiculous, adorable man currently dragging the basket over with his toes.

Clint started digging around again, pouting as he discarded yarn left and right.

“Geez, doll, you’re making a mess. Why don’t you let me help you – what’s your criteria? Feel? Project type?”

”Color,” Clint said very solemnly, pouting in what Bucky wanted to say was overexaggerated but with Clint as tired as he was, the man might actually think the situation called for the level of pout he was bringing to bear. “They’re all the wrong _color._ I need to find the right one.”

“And what color would that be?” Bucky asked, amusement and curiosity getting the better of him.

“Sshhhh,” Clint said, raising his finger over his mouth. “It’s a secret!”

Yawning again, Clint abandoned the basket and curled into Bucky and his eyes drooped. Within seconds, Clint had fallen asleep nestled against Bucky’s side. And that… that was something… it was…. it was…

Bucky didn’t plan on moving unless the world was in danger.

Nobody could make him.

So, the world better not be in danger.

* * *

Clint woke slowly, warm and comfortable. He was tucked in tight against a furnace, he was pretty sure – but that wasn’t right. If he was actually flush against a heating appliance, he’d get burns and that obviously wasn’t the case. This was… comfortable.

He yawned, rolled closer and gave it a squeeze.

The furnace moved, a vibration rumbling through Clint’s body and he shifted, blinked his eyes open and found himself staring up into amused blue eyes. A smile cracked Bucky’s face, a small blush on his cheeks.

“Sleep well?”

“Jesus, did I drool on you?” Clint said, levering himself up. Or trying to. The only solid surface to push against was Bucky, what with the layers and layer of pillows and blankets Clint had gathered and Bucky had added too.

Bucky shook his head, dropping his knitting to sign. _Just been wondering how you managed to survive, out in the field, if you’re always like that when you’re exhausted._

“Eh, Nat’s always got my back,” Clint said, shrugging.

“Not this time she didn’t,” Bucky said, looking guilty. Clint was grateful Bucky hadn’t ducked his head, hidden his lips, because Bucky hadn’t signed that, maybe hadn’t even meant for Clint to hear it at all.

“You’re not blaming yourself for that, are you?” Clint said, groping for the aids Bucky had, apparently, placed on the window shelf while Clint was sleeping. He put them back in, catching the grimace Bucky made at being caught out.

He shook it off, though, picking his knitting back up – shit, how long had Clint been out? Buck had made some _serious_ progress – Bucky shook his head. “Nah, that would be dumb.”

“And we’re Avengers, we _never_ do anything dumb,” Clint pointed out.

“You’re an Avenger. I’m Avenger adjacent,” Bucky said. “And you have Stevie, so that’s all the dumb you need.”

Laughing softly, Clint stretched his arms above his head and twisted lightly with a groan, hearing bones pop and crack. God, he was getting oooooold. Maybe not as old as tony and, technically, not as old as Steve or Bucky, but for a superhero, he was old. He still had a few good years in him yet, though, Clint was sure. He wasn’t ready to give this up yet. It felt good to help people, no matter how he was going about it. And when he wasn’t superheroing, or recovering from superheroing, there were a few other things he liked to do to help out. Speaking of, he should reach out to pepper about some new opportunities.

“Yeah, I dunno. I think that’s close enough to count, in my opinion. Also, I think we have more dumb than just Steve,” Clint said, then groaning after a particular pop in his lower back.

Clint expected agreement, or even a snort, but instead, there was a strangled sound next to him and when he dropped his arms to look, Bucky was scrambling to pick up his knitting needles and his cheeks had gone from a pleasant blush to a burning red.

“You okay?” Clint asked, peering at Bucky closely.

“Yeah –“ Bucky squeaked. He cleared his throat and flashed Clint a smile. “Perfectly fine, doll.”

“Um-hmm,” Clint said, his eyes narrowing. He thought about last night, how wound up he’d been before dinner, how keyed up he’d _still_ been after, despite the – surprisingly, in his experience – good results. He remembered Bucky’s words, the ones that had kept him up all night pondering their _exact_ meaning. Because sure Clint’s first impulse had been wrong, right? There was no way Bucky had meant, well, _that._

But why else would it have been the best news he’d heard all day unless he was interested in either Nat or Clint and now both were free? And, and….

He’d called Clint doll twice now. Like a filter had been removed from his mouth.

Clint found he rather liked that, but dreaded it didn’t mean what he thought it meant.

“You still planning on making fingerless gloves?” Bucky asked suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

“Was I?” Clint blinked.

Bucky laughed, eyes crinkling and his head throwing back slightly. It was a good look and caught Clint’s breath. “Yeah, doll, you were pawing through the basket before you conked out.”

“Huh, y’know, maybe past me was right. Something to keep the hands busy and won’t get me in trouble with Steve again,” Clint said, dragging the basket over again.

“He caught you on the range, didn’t he?” Bucky drawled out.

“He did,” Clint agreed with a sigh. “Damn, can he lecture or _what?_ Then Nat found out.” Clint shuddered. “I still haven’t figured out which one of them is worse when they’re disappointed in me.”

“I’d say not to do anything to make them disappointed in you, but that’s rather a lost cause, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty hopeless,” Clint said.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Bucky said, staring at Clint earnestly. “I’ve heard the others talk about you, and I’ve seen some of the mission footage. You hold your own pretty well, and you’re the best damn shot I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks,” Clint said. he wanted to return the favor, but Bucky had become a sniper because he’d been drafted, not because he’d ever wanted to shoot. And then HYDRA had turned him into a weapon. Clint wasn’t all too sure how a compliment like that would sit with Bucky.

He turned away to look at the basket, having been sifting through it and actually looking down at the choices at odd intervals. He finally settled on a variegated yarn that held the spectrum between blues and greens with shots of black, silver, purple and gold running through it.

It looked complicated, but he couldn’t wait to see what it would look like when it was all knitted up. He held out the skein. “How about this for mittens?”

“Yeah, those could look nice,” Bucky said, nodding. He reached beside him and pulled out a book, a few markers poking out between the pages. “Those are ones I thought you might like, though I recommend the second one to start with.”

Clint took the book and cracked it open, flipping the pages back and forth to see the different patterns. He’d only just started learning to knit (it was way more soothing than he’d expected, except for the moments when it wasn’t) and – according to Bucky – was making fairly fast progress, but he had no fucking clue how to read the pattern.

He paged back to the one Bucky had noted and set the book up. “Okay, explain it to me.”

Bucky put his own knitting down and used one needle to point to things in the book, Clint’s eyes following along easily. “So for this pattern, you’re going to be knitting in the round and except for 2 places, will be using the knit stitch completely. The only tricky part will be this right here –“ he tapped the book – “the thumb gusset.”

“Uh huh, and what on earth does knitting in the round mean?”

An evil little smile spread over Bucky’s face and Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Just remember, _you_ wanted to learn how to knit gloves. It could be worse. They could have fingers, or you could be knitting socks or doing colorwork.”

“If you’re setting me up to fail – “ Clint said, poking at Bucky’s chest. Bucky caught Clint’s fingers, closing his hand around Clint’s gently.

“Never, doll,” Bucky said softly.

A flutter set up shop in Clint’s gut and he couldn’t look away from Bucky’s eyes, couldn’t pull his hand from Bucky’s surprisingly warm, metal one. His breath caught.

Maybe… he _hadn’t_ been wrong?

“Bucky, at dinner last night, when you said…” Clint struggled to get the words out, to not sound so breathless as he did. They trailed off when Bucky gave him a slight tug and Clint could have resisted, he _could_ have, but… but he didn’t _want_ to.

A hand, even warmer than the one currently holding his, cupped Clint’s face, the thumb tracing along Clint’s cheek, skittering over the Band-Aid he’d applied sometime the night before.

He swallowed.

Clint didn’t want to stop the slow lean of their bodies towards each other, but this was so _fast._ He’d barely announced that his and Nat’s whole relationship had been something different than they’d pretended and he’d only been back in the tower a few weeks, now.

He lifted his other hand and placed it on Bucky’s chest and Bucky halted, but he didn’t pull back, his pale blue eyes scanning Clint’s.

“You all right, doll?”

“Bucky, we barely know each other,” Clint said hoarsely, barely believing he was daring to

“I know you better than anybody else ‘cept Stevie. Or Nat. And he’s changed. So’s she.” Bucky said with a shrug that Clint felt with his whole body. “An’ I gotta say, I really like what I’ve seen so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” Bucky said, eyes dropping to Clint’s mouth and back up, a silent question.

Clint bit his lip and nodded, eyes wide, curling his hand into Bucky’s shirt and reeling Bucky in.

Then their mouths met, slow and soft and somehow filled with fireworks.

From such a chaste kiss.

Fuck, but Clint didn’t think it had ever been like that with _anybody_.

Far too soon, the kiss ended and Bucky looked at him with half lidded eyes and a smitten little smirk that made Clint dive in for several more kisses, each as soft and chaste as the first.

Somehow, they wound up curled around each other in the blankets, not doing anything but just staring at each other.

“I wanna court you proper,” Bucky said at last, as Clint’s fingers played with Bucky’s hair, pushing it away from his face and combing through the soft, brown locks.

Clint smiled. “Of course you do, old timey gentleman that you are. That’s sweet of ya, but I gotta admit, I ain’t much into fancy places or extravagant dates, Stark Tower or no, so don’t go overboard on me. It ain’t worth the trouble.”

“Hmm… I’ll keep that in mind but, Clint,” Bucky said, that same earnest look in his eyes as had been there earlier. “However we do this, I think you’re _worth_ all the trouble.”

Clint snorted. “Bucky, I _am_ the trouble.”

“My trouble, I hope,” Bucky said, smiling at him. “Besides, I’ve been training all my life for this. I think I can manage.”

“Did you just compare me to _Steve?”_ Clint blinked at Bucky, flabbergasted. “I’m not sure how to take that. I almost feel like I should be insulted, but I’m actually feeling… a bit honored. To think I could be compared to _Captain America_ \- ” he snickered. “A Paragon of Virtue –“ Clint was still snickering but even Bucky snorted at that one. “Honest and True – “

Bucky lost it, shoulders shaking as he buried his head into Clint, tucking under Clint’s chin.

“Oh my god, doll, stop,” Bucky wheezed. “Honest and true my ass! The lying fuck cheats at cards and steals government vehicles. And those goddamn videos about following the rules? That fucker was _constantly_ breaking rules and disobeying orders and I was forever bailing him out.”

“Eh, rules are more like guidelines anyway,” Clint said. “Didn’t you know?” He paused. “Huh, I guess I _am_ sorta like Steve.”

Bucky groaned into Clint’s shirt and the vibration traveled through him pleasantly before Bucky pulled back to look into Clint’s eyes directly.

“Please, promise me you _won’t_ be jumping out of airplanes without a parachute, or taking on a multinational, underground evil organization singlehandedly. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

“Well, I mean, I never _plan_ to do anything stupid, stupid just sorta… happens, sometimes,” Clint protested weakly.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I should really talk to Nat about the sorts of things you get into, shouldn’t I?”

“Er…” Clint looked away guiltily. Just wait till Bucky heard about Bedstuy. “Look, if I’m more trouble than you bargained for, we don’t have to –“

A hand was covering his mouth before he could finish the sentence.

“Oh no, doll, you’re stuck with me now,” Bucky said. “As long as you can put up with _me._ ”

If Bucky thought that was going to stop Clint from talking… He gave Bucky’s hand a lick, tasting slightly salty skin, but Bucky stood strong. Whatever. Not like that was the only trick in Clint’s arsenal.

His hands came up between them, moving fluidly. _You’ll regret that. Everyone always does._

“Good thing I’m not everyone, is it, doll?” Bucky moved his hand tilted his head in for another kiss, this time pressing just a little bit harder. Clint’s eyes fluttered shut, lips opening on a light, needy gasp.

Maybe Bucky was wrong.

Maybe he was overestimating his patience for dealing with idiots, with _Clint_ , but… Clint didn’t want to believe that. All these lazy days with Bucky had just felt so comfortable, so natural, in a way that Clint had never felt before.

And Bucky was the only one besides Natasha who could understand that certain part of Clint and not be scared away by it.

And there’d never been a chance of anything with Nat, despite their pretenses.

Breathlessly, Clint drew back, their breaths mingling. “Guess it is. My lucky day,” Clint grinned. Bucky’s answering smirk had Clint melting.

“I’d say it was mine,” Bucky drawled, the words a whisper on Clint’s lips.

“Maybe,” Clint said, “Maybe it’s both of ours?”

“I can live with that.”

Together, they melted into the softness of the odd, cozy little nest and warm strong arms. Golden pinks and soft hues poured through the windows, painting them in morning light as they kissed lazily, twining comfortably around each other, knitting laying forgotten.

That was okay, they’d get back to it… eventually…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are at the end  
> i just wanted to pretty much write fluff for this fic, cause i really freaking needed it, so here you go!

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to be read as a standalone, but i can easily see it expanding for more and hoping to do so soon. I'm wondering what my muses hold for me...


End file.
